


storms of fire and blood (and the birth of legends)

by cynicwhocould



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicwhocould/pseuds/cynicwhocould
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the night of Daenerys's birth amidst the worst storm Dragonstone had seen in centuries, and Prince Viserys is waiting through the storm and his mother's bloody birth with heavy thoughts weighing on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	storms of fire and blood (and the birth of legends)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Viserys being touched in the head.
> 
> A brief reminder: It is the last month of Robert's Rebellion. Both the King and Rhaegar are dead, with Elia and Rhaenys slaughtered and Aegon frisked away by Varys to be raised in safety.
> 
> Viserys is at Dragonstone with his weak, pregnant mother Queen Rhaella.

Outside the lightning flashed as Rhaella Targaryan screamed once more.

Viserys was huddled in a corner of his room. The birthing chambers were not far off from his chambers-not that it mattered. His mother's screams could be heard throughout Dragonstone. He flinched as a high wail ripped itself from Rhaella's throat. Rain dripped from the gargoyles that were made even more ominous by the backdrop of thunder and lightning that wracked the sky. The sea was churning so loud that the crashing of water upon rock could be heard from inside the heart of the castle.

It was the worst storm to hit the Targaryen castle in over 50 years. 

Viserys thought it bitterly fitting for the little baby that was causing his mother so much pain. It was a Targaryen. Maybe it was mad at his mother and wanted to make her cry, just like his father did when she refused to obey him. His mother didn't want him to go near his father. Privately he agreed. He liked his brother more, the tall and seemingly perfect Rhaegar Targaryen.

Rhaegar had always seemed like the perfect prince in Viserys' eyes. He was tall, with strong Valyrian blood that echoed their ancestry. Rhaegar was a warrior, a scholar, a poet, a king in the making. Even a beautiful wife was his, though she was not Targaryen. Elia Martell was kind, and smelled of cinnamon. She would hold Viserys and her daughter, Rhaenys in her lap and tell them stories; silver hair would intertwine with glossy black, and he would smile at the sight. Rhaegar would throw them up into the air along with little Aegon, who was so young he could barely stand. Balerion was Rhaenys's kitten, and they would play for hours on end as Elia would sew along with his mother, and Ashara and-

He looked up at the sound of feet running through the halls. Hardly anyone was moving, or doing anything asides from helping his mother through the birth. Mostly the smallfolk were clutching together, some in fear and worry. Dragonstone was used to storms, but nothing like this. This storm was sudden and terrifying, trapping ships in the fear and fury of all that Nature could offer. Viserys clutched himself tighter and prayed to the gods that had abandoned him and his family for the storm to abate.

The storm was only getting worse as the night wore on. The thunder rang in time with his mother’s screams, the sea crashed furiously against the rocks and the lightning fell down brighter and brighter until Viserys was blinded from the view. The sounds mixed together until Viserys could hardly tell them apart. He held his hands over his ears, and yet the wails and the storm and the barking commands of the maesters and midwives still pierced his hearing.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Viserys ran into his mother's birthing chambers, worry fueling his steps before one of the maesters stopped him from entering.  
"You wouldn't want to go in there, Your Grace."

He was about to protest, retorts about how he was a dragon, a Targaryen and the maester below him before he looked more closely at the aged man. The maester was ashen and trembling-with worry or fatigue, Viserys couldn't tell.

But it was the blood that drew his eye.

Blood streaked the maester's robes, staining the off-white fabric with splashes of lurid crimson. Dark purple eyes grew wide, and for a moment Viserys couldn't hear anything: not Rhaella's screams, not the storm, not the terrified people. The deluge was muted in his ears as his eyes focused on the streaks of red on white. He was shocked, almost consumed by the sight, with a tinge of fascination.

Would this be what the Usurper looked like when Viserys would kill him? Would he be covered in blood, like the walls of the Red Keep were after Elia's death? Viserys was transfixed by the sight: the lurid splashes of crimson haunting him, fascinating him, as it had with so many other of his kin. He felt the stirrings, feelings of hate and anger and lust overcoming him, something within him hungering for the blood, calling for the death of the Usurper, of the traitorous House Lannister, and of every enemy of House Targaryen.

Soon, he told himself. Mother, his tired, pitiful yet beautiful mother, would birth his wife. His sister-queen and partner. They would rise together, and then he would bathe Westeros in the words of his house until there were none left that would oppose them. 

Fire and blood would conquer all. And hopefully then, the feelings and stirrings inside Viserys would stop. Maybe then he could rest and the screams of his family and those who had died would end, knowing that the last dragon had avenged his kin.

He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until his mother's wails were replaced by the wails of a small child. Viserys tried to run into the room again, only to be stopped by the maester from before. A midwife, looking just as grey as the maester held a small bundle within her hands. She stopped and urgently whispered something to the man, who nodded and dashed back into Rhaella's rooms.  
The woman approached Viserys, whose purple eyes were still wide with fear. Even the storm was quiet, and his mother's screams of pain were relegated to gasps of breath, but for some reason he felt even more worried than before. Her eyes were soft, looking at him with pity, which made Viserys bristle.

The rule of House Targaryen might not have been as strong as it was before, but the dragon would always triumph. Rhaegar was lost to them forever, which meant that the Targaryens would crush the Baratheon pretender and get revenge for his brother's death. The Lannisters would be put to the sword, and the Mountain killed for what he did to sweet Princess Elia. He would make them pay. This babe-girl for a queen, girl to match him in hair and eyes for proof that yes, the line endured -would grow strong; standing at his side and never parting from him, not like all the rest.  
Everything would be okay, he told himself.

Viserys was jarred out of his thoughts by a soft bundle being placed in his hands. He looked at it curiously.

The baby his mother had birthed was not a monster after all. It-she, the baby was a she, a girl to be his sister-queen and wife-was small, delicate. Nothing like his father, who had nails like daggers and was thinner than Baelor the Blessed. The baby had hair like his, soft downy tufts of silver that harkened to bloodlines older than the very castle in which they stood. A true Targaryen.

Violet eyes glanced up at the midwife. "Her name?"

"Daenerys."

"So quiet, for her birth." Viserys's brow furrowed, and he clutched the baby tighter. "I will call her Stormborn."

One of them-the greatest of them-was lost to Viserys for good. He silently vowed to let this one live, this little baby girl. To live, to rise from the ashes and rule for those of their family who never would. She had to live.

The baby turned in his hands, and Viserys frowned. She was so small, so delicate. He had to protect her. Rhaegar would have wanted him to protect her. They had taken everything from him, but they would not take her, his sister and future wife. They would not take the last Targaryen from him.

As violet eyes opened for the first time, Viserys Targaryen smiled. Behind him, a midwife dashed to Queen Rhaella's rooms with bandages in hand, hoping to stop the flow of blood from one of the last Targaryens.


End file.
